


love

by seiseijoh



Series: i hate you (i've got you) [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Barebacking, Begging, Biting, Bruises, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Hair-pulling, M/M, Pet Names, Possessiveness, Riding, Teasing, also peep all the references to the original fic, because he is, because once again it's not matsuhana without banter, brief reference to kurodai, i guess??, im sorry but also not, makki gets called a cumslut, mildly rough sex, okay real tags now, peep me trying to cope with my personal fear of being known, points if you catch them, some more gratuitous use of the word fuck, submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known, these two are so fucking in love, this is the sappiest one yet, wearing your boyfriend's band shirt while you get railed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27938057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seiseijoh/pseuds/seiseijoh
Summary: Matsukawa stares – stares at the beautiful creature splayed out underneath him, writhing on his own fingers, looking up at him pleadingly with wet eyes under fluttering eyelashes, flushed and warm and face smeared with spit and damp with sweat. He’s never seen him like this before – he’s seen him whiny and petulant and demanding, but never like he mightdieif he doesn’t get what he’s asking for. A burst of heat, ofneed, overcomes Matsukawa, but he doesn’t have the chance to speak before Hanamaki beats him to it, begging from bruised lips.“Think about it, Issei, how good it’ll feel, it’ll be so much better without it.” He arches his back, and his chest brushes Matsukawa’s. “It’ll feel so fucking good to come in me, right?”sequel to pretty boy
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Series: i hate you (i've got you) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1870471
Comments: 27
Kudos: 210
Collections: expressions of love, matsuhana fics





	love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caandlelit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caandlelit/gifts).



> once again explanations are in order
> 
> i had fully intended to do two final pieces, but i restarted the first of those numerous times, trying different ways to make it work, and it just wasn't going to. so i made the executive decision to scrap it and just do one last fic to tie everything up. so this is, in fact, the last one. i apologise for getting your hopes up about another fic, but this is it. 
> 
> on that note, thank you all so much for all the love for this series! it's been a blast, and i come back and reread your comments all the time. thank you thank you thank you all so much!!!
> 
> properly dedicated to caandlelit this time who has made writing this series the most fun, and who i would kill a man for
> 
> finally, i recently posted an absolutely filthy piece set in the same universe as this series, but focusing on iwaoisuga, so go check that out if that's ur jam

They’ve only been dating for six months, but if the train that Matsukawa rides to get to Hanamaki’s place is delayed one more time, he might just give up and move in with him.

The platform is crowded, unsurprisingly, and someone bumps into him as the mass of people shift and try to find their own space. Matsukawa stumbles; he side-eyes the guy as he reorients himself but doesn’t say anything. It’s not going to accomplish anything. They’re all in the same boat, trying to figure out whether they’re going to wait for the train to show up or find another way to their destination.

With a sigh, Matsukawa pulls out his phone. If the train was on time, he’d be at Hanamaki’s in twenty minutes, including the walk from the station. As it stands, the train probably isn’t going to show up for another ten, meaning it’ll be at least half an hour before he arrives. It’s not the worst delay in the world, and if it were much longer than that, he’d consider getting a rideshare or even just walking. But he’s already here, packed in amongst the other commuters, and it just doesn’t seem worth the fight to get out of the station.

**Mattsun:** _hey train delayed again_

**Mattsun:** _will probs be 30_

It’s not as if his journey is time sensitive. They’re just going to camp out on the couch for the afternoon and marathon as many shitty action movies as they can. But they’ve both been busy recently, not able to see each other as much as they’d like, and now that they’ve managed to wrangle a free day together, they just want to relax and enjoy each other’s company with no stress.

And this is stress.

Matsukawa glances at his phone. Hanamaki hasn’t seen the messages; he bites his lip and sends a few more.

**Mattsun:** _im deadass just gonna start putting money aside to get rides to urs_

**Mattsun:** _this is what_

**Mattsun:** _the 100th time this stupid train has been delayed_

**Mattsun:** _hey_

**Mattsun:** _asshole_

**Mattsun:** _answer me_

**Mattsun:** _im bored_

Nothing.

For the next ten minutes, he passes the time messaging Iwaizumi, who barely replies since he’s graciously covering Matsukawa’s shift at the café; Kuroo, who gushes about his upcoming one-year anniversary with Daichi; and Suga, who complains about Daichi’s upcoming anniversary and how his roommate hasn’t talked about anything else for two weeks. He also checks in periodically to see if Hanamaki has replied, or even read the messages – which he hasn’t. It doesn’t worry him – he assumes he’s in the middle of his usual routine of speed cleaning the apartment before Matsukawa comes over, and not paying attention to his phone – but it does annoy him, because as much as he loves his other friends, it’s Hanamaki whose attention he’s craving.

He starts to put his phone away as the time ticks closer to when the train is supposed to arrive, but is stopped in his tracks by a cheerful-sounding alert echoing through the busy station letting everyone know that the train will be delayed _again_. The platform nearly erupts into chaos, and Matsukawa has to hunch in on himself to avoid being knocked over. But the new time is only five minutes away. Slowly, the other passengers calm down, and Mattsun shoots off another message.

**Mattsun:** _another five min delay_

**Mattsun:** _u better be alive_

**Mattsun:** _bc im gonna be real mad if i get there and ur dead or something_

**Mattsun:** _weve been planning this for a week_

By the time the train finally pulls into the station and Matsukawa fights his way on, Hanamaki still hasn’t seen the messages. He’s slightly worried now; surely he should have realised by now that his boyfriend is late, and checked to see if there was a reason? But he’s on the way now, and it’s more than likely he’s just overreacting. So he sends a thank you text to Iwaizumi for covering for him, and spends the train ride and subsequent walk to Hanamaki’s telling Kuroo that yes, he’s sure Daichi will love being treated and showered in affection but _no_ , he doesn’t want to know all the details of the night he’s planning, and commiserating with Suga about the suffering they’re both going through.

He checks his phone one last time as he gets off the elevator on Hanamaki’s floor. The messages are still unread. Matsukawa frowns, and makes his way to the apartment. He doesn’t bother knocking before he unlocks the door – Hanamaki gave him a key about four months ago and if that’s not disgustingly domestic, Matsukawa doesn’t know what is.

He toes off his shoes and calls out, “Makki?”

“Issei?”

Matsukawa pauses, frowns. Hanamaki only calls him by his given name when they’re being intimate. Sometimes it’s a cry in the middle of sex, sometimes it’s a whisper in his ear when they’re curled up together on the couch – it’s not called out across the apartment. But the tone Hanamaki’s used, pitched a little high with a hint of need – that’s _very_ familiar.

Matsukawa follows the voice towards the bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, and he pushes it open with a, “Makki? You o…”

He trails off, stopping dead on the threshold. Hanamaki is laying back on the bed wearing only a rucked-up t-shirt, blankets kicked aside, toes curled and sweat dampening his skin as he fists his dick and thrusts two fingers inside himself roughly. At the sound of Matsukawa’s entrance, Hanamaki glances at him, smiles with a breathless laugh, and slides a third finger in.

“Fuck,” Matsukawa murmurs.

“Where,” Hanamaki says, “the fuck have you been?”

“Train was delayed.” Matsukawa somehow unsticks himself from the floor and steps into the room, yanking off his shirt and nearly punching himself in the face in the process. “I texted you. Check your phone next time.”

“Sorry, I was a little preoccupied.”

“If I’d known you wanted to fuck, I’d have got a ride instead of the train in the first place. You should have said something.”

Hanamaki laughs. “I thought I’d surprise you. But I’ve since realised that I like your fingers in me a lot more than my own, so if you wouldn’t mind hurrying up?”

Matsukawa is already three quarters the way out of the rest of his clothes, and it's only seconds between Hanamaki’s demands and their fulfilment. He climbs onto the bed, settling between Hanamaki’s legs as his boyfriend pulls his hand back to grab the lube lying beside him and jab it in his direction. Matsukawa slicks his hand and wastes no time sinking three fingers into him, drawing a satisfied moan from Hanamaki.

“Fuck, yes,” he pants, wriggling his hips.

“Good to know I’m useful for something,” Matsukawa teases, right as he circles Hanamaki’s prostate.

Hanamaki’s hips jerk. “You are…” He pauses to inhale shakily. “… very useful.” Then he groans, back arching, and says, “You know you’re never allowed to break up with me, right? You’ve fucking… you’ve fucking _ruined_ me for literally every other man. I could have another man’s dick in me and I’d still be thinking about that time you made me come like, eighteen fucking times with your stupid, magic fingers.”

Matsukawa snorts. “I’m sorry, we’re about to have sex and you’re thinking about another man’s dick?” As he speaks, he alternates between massaging Hanamaki’s prostate and pushing deeper, opening him up – not that he really needs it. He’s obviously been at this a while, and as much as he absolutely _loves_ fingering his boyfriend, Matsukawa’s dick twitches at the thought of just being able to fuck him without any preamble. “Also, I know you’re saying eighteen as a joke, but I’d love to take that as a challenge.”

“You’ll kill me. Like – _oh, fuck_ – you’ll actually kill me. I’ll die, Issei. Is that what you – _ah!_ – want?”

“Sex never killed anyone.”

“Yes, it has!” Hanamaki seems to realise he’s stopped moving the hand on his dick and starts to pump again. His hips stutter between fucking up into his hand and down onto Matsukawa’s fingers. “Loads of people have died having sex. I don’t want to be a statistic, Issei. Hanamaki Takahiro – _shit_ – cause of death, too much sex. Can you imagine my poor mother, having to find out her only son died from dick overdose?”

“First of all,” Matsukawa says, “it’d be fingers, not dick. Secondly, we’re about to have sex, and you’re talking about your _mother_?”

“Finger overdose is dumb as shit.” Hanamaki frowns, the sweat glistening on his brow starting to drip down his temple. Suddenly he throws his head back and laughs. “Wait! Orgasm overload!”

Matsukawa laughs as well, rolls his eyes. “How about I overload your mouth with my dick so I don’t have to listen to you anymore?”

“Then my cause of death can be suffo-dick-tion.”

“I think you mean suffo-cock-tion.”

“Oh, that’s a good one.”

Hanamaki giggles. Matsukawa shifts, moving up to lean over him while still keeping his hand right where Hanamaki wants it.

“Hiro, shut up,” he says, a little fondly, before kissing him.

Hanamaki grins into the kiss, reaching up to clutch at his shoulders. One hand slides into his hair and pulls which, even after all this time, Matsukawa is not going to admit might be a little bit of a kink for him. The last thing he needs is Hanamaki using it against him, the little shit.

He bites his boyfriend’s lip, hard enough to get a small gasp of pain out of him. When he lets go, Hanamaki chases another kiss, wet and bruising and delightfully heady.

“Issei,” he sighs.

Matsukawa presses against his prostate, rubs, keeps the pressure there until Hanamaki’s whining, back arching off the bed, fingers painful in his hair and nails sharp at his shoulder. When he eases off, he gets the start of a panting plea, demand – he doesn’t know for sure, because he silences it with another press and a sharp bite to the throat.

Hanamaki stutters through a breath, then yanks hard enough on Matsukawa’s hair to drag him away from his neck. Matsukawa gives him a moment’s reprieve, in which Hanamaki nudges at his jaw and says, lips grazing his skin, “Issei, hurry up and fuck me.”

“I thought,” Matsukawa says, punctuating the pause with a lazy curl, “that I was going to make you come eighteen times with my stupid, magic fingers.”

Hanamaki gasps. “Not now… Issei, I need… I _need_ you to fuck me, I’ve been thinking about it this whole time.”

“How long have you been working yourself up for?” Matsukawa asks, tilting his head with a teasing smile.

“Fucking… like, an hour or something. You weren’t supposed to take so long.”

Matsukawa removes his hand, and when Hanamaki whimpers involuntarily at the loss, he strokes the thumb of his clean hand over the other’s cheek and soothes, “I’ve got you, princess.”

He reaches over towards the bedside table but before he can open the top drawer, Hanamaki grabs his wrist.

“I'm getting a condom,” Matsukawa says. “Just hold on a second.”

“Don't,” Hanamaki pants.

“What do you mean, don’t? Do you want me to fuck you or not?”

Hanamaki's grip tightens and he whines, “Fuck me without it, moron.”

Matsukawa blinks. He doesn’t even have the wherewithal to respond to the insult – all he can stammer is, “What? A-Are you sure?”

“I have never been so sure about anything in my entire fucking life.” Hanamaki bites his lip, reaches down with his free hand and slips his fingers in again with a soft gasp. “Fuck, I've been thinking about it – not just today, for weeks. I want you to come in me, Issei, please, I wanna feel it. Want you to fuck me full, so I can feel it down my thighs, make it messy, fuck me up, fuck me _raw_ , Issei, _please_.”

Matsukawa stares – stares at the beautiful creature splayed out underneath him, writhing on his own fingers, looking up at him pleadingly with wet eyes under fluttering eyelashes, flushed and warm and face smeared with spit and damp with sweat. He’s never seen him like this before – he’s seen him whiny and petulant and demanding, but never like he might _die_ if he doesn’t get what he’s asking for. A burst of heat, of _need_ , overcomes Matsukawa, but he doesn’t have the chance to speak before Hanamaki beats him to it, begging from bruised lips.

“Think about it, Issei, how good it’ll feel, it’ll be so much better without it.” He arches his back, and his chest brushes Matsukawa’s. “It’ll feel so fucking good to come in me, right?”

“You had me from the start, Hiro, you don’t have to convince me,” Matsukawa rushes to say, and uncurls the other's fingers from his wrist.

Hanamaki's chest heaves. “Really?”

“You think I could say no?”

“You fucking say no to me all the time.”

“Not right now, love.” _You could ask me to do anything when you’re like this and I'd do it_. The words almost slip out, but he bites his tongue.

Hanamaki doesn’t need to know the absolute power he holds over him.

He kisses him again, and although he tries to keep it slow and unhurried, to draw out the denial just a little longer, his boyfriend is having none of it. Hanamaki bites, and when Matsukawa opens his mouth in a gasp, it’s invaded in an instant by the other's tongue. In the midst of it, Hanamaki’s back curves again, and Matsukawa realises he’s still two fingers deep in himself. He expects more resistance when he pulls the hand away but Hanamaki gives easily, hips rocking onto nothing, legs shaking in need and anticipation. Matsukawa leans back and grabs the lube – as soon as he’s slicked himself up, he tosses it aside, hears it hit the floor.

He hasn’t even been thinking about his own arousal – isn’t even really thinking about it when he slides his hands over Hanamaki's thighs to push them apart. The only thing he’s thinking about is the way Hanamaki’s eyelids flutter when he starts to press in slowly, the way his breath catches and his hands clutch at the sheets.

Matsukawa swears under his breath. If he’s honest, he’s never really considered not using a condom – it’s second nature at this point, and he’s never been with a person long enough for it to be a possibility anyway. But there’s something about sinking into Hanamaki, _hot_ and _tight_ and _perfect_ , that feels like he’s fulfilling a long-held fantasy. He bottoms out and holds, breathing through clenched teeth, as Hanamaki urges him on with a heel to his lower back.

He still asks, “Good?”

“Fuck, Issei, _yes_ , _move_ ,” Hanamaki bites out.

There’s still the thought of taking his time, making him wait. Matsukawa rolls his hips, keeping them mostly flush, and laughs breathlessly when Hanamaki cries out, squirms, digs his heel in harder. But Matsukawa doesn’t give in. He stays slow, restrained, just gently circling with no force behind it. He _wants_ to fuck him, and fuck him hard, but he also loves pushing his luck – and pushing Hanamaki. He’s so pretty right now, all long lines and warm skin bathed in the afternoon’s light, even if his face is screwed up in annoyance as he demands _more_ and for him to _move already_ . The thought of teasing him, edging him close and then pulling him back, watching him cry in frustration, petting his cheek and kissing away the tears – _fuck_ , he loves that.

What he hasn’t taken into consideration is the time Hanamaki’s spent touching himself to thoughts of getting properly fucked. Any patience he might have had is long gone. And so Matsukawa doesn’t expect the foot to the chest he gets, shoving him away before he’s grabbed, turned, and pinned to the bed on his back. Heart pounding, Matsukawa stares as Hanamaki swings a leg over him and growls, “If you won’t fucking do it, I’ll do it myself,” before lining himself up and taking Matsukawa’s dick in one swift move.

He can’t fucking _breathe_. First the air is knocked out of him, and then he doesn’t have the chance to draw a proper breath as Hanamaki fucks himself hard and fast on Matsukawa’s dick, leaning heavily on his chest. Matsukawa’s head falls back, eyes closing, cursing with what little breath he does have. And then his attention snaps back when Hanamaki moans, needy and low.

“I fucking… _hate_ you,” Hanamaki pants. “Making me… do all the fucking work… you haven’t had to do anything… since you got here… you’re gonna fucking come first too, I know it… piece of shit… fuck you…”

Matsukawa reaches out, slides his hands over the other's trembling legs. Hanamaki slows, looks at him – pale hair he's been growing out plastered to his forehead, throat and shoulders scattered with bruises old and new, a half-smile quirking his lips. Matsukawa returns the smile with a breath of a laugh.

“You know I’ve always got you,” he says as he trails his hands up to the other’s hips. “I’ll make sure you come first, yeah? Consider it a token of my appreciation.”

“Yeah? Appreciation of what?”

“Well,” he starts, but Hanamaki’s attention has already wandered, more focused on grinding his hips down until – he gasps, legs tensing and fingers curling sharply. Matsukawa rubs his thumbs over the other’s hips, clenching his jaw to keep from groaning as Hanamaki angles himself to make sure every movement is hitting exactly where he needs.

“You...” Hanamaki swallows. “You were saying something?”

It takes a second for Matsukawa to remember.

“Yeah. Appreciation. For all the work you put in before I got here. But also, just generally, you know? For letting me tap that.”

He laughs and smacks Hanamaki's ass, keeping it playful and light. Hanamaki jolts under his hand, inhaling sharply, and Matsukawa kneads the muscle to take any sting out of the hit.

“Also,” he adds with a tug on the hem of the shirt Hanamaki's wearing – black, emblazoned with the logo of a band he knows Hanamaki only marginally cares about, damp with sweat and sticking to his skin. “Is that my shirt?”

Hanamaki tosses his head, smirks. “Maybe. You gonna fuck me any time soon? I don’t feel very appreciated.”

Matsukawa grins, and doesn’t give Hanamaki the chance to whine again before he braces himself against the bed and gives him what he wants – only the chance to spill a desperate litany of _fuck, Issei, more, yes, harder, fuck me Issei_ . It feels so _fucking_ good, pleasure arcing along every nerve, core working overtime, his skin burning hot at every point of contact. He loves fucking Hanamaki in any position, but if he had to pick his favourite it’s this by far. There’s just something about the muscle tightness and strain in his legs and core, about the way each savage snap of his hips makes Hanamaki bounce so prettily as he lets the neighbours know just how much he loves his boyfriend’s dick. He’s more than content to just continue fucking him stupid like this with no more effort on his part – Hanamaki’s come untouched many, many times before, and he could do it again. But as his own orgasm starts to wash over him already, overtaking him, he knows that it won’t be enough if Hanamaki is to come first.

Besides, he deserves the extra attention.

Gritting his teeth, he slows his pace, bringing himself back from the edge. Just as Hanamaki starts to choke out a complaint, Matsukawa wraps a hand around his dick. The complaint becomes a moan, nails scratching the other’s stomach. His hips move erratically – up into Matsukawa’s hand, down hard on his dick, the rhythm long lost.

“Issei…”

“Come on, pretty boy, come for me.”

He isn’t sure quite how close Hanamaki is – he’s fully expecting to have to coax it out of him – but as it turns out, he’s _close_ . Body tense, Hanamaki swears, “ _Fuck, ‘sei!_ ”, and comes hot over his hand. Matsukawa works him through it until he’s spent, until he’s breathing hard and shaking, knees tight against his waist. Neither of them move for a few moments, and Matsukawa takes the brief pause to inhale deeply.

It’s just on the right side of too soon when, slowly, Hanamaki begins to rock his hips again. Matsukawa bites his lip.

“Your turn,” Hanamaki pants. “You gonna…”

Matsukawa doesn’t let him finish the question. He pulls out and flips them, forcefully enough that Hanamaki bounces when he’s slammed onto his back. Matsukawa kisses him, harsh and sharp, and Hanamaki buries his fingers deep into his hair. The pull, the pain-turned-pleasure, drags a traitorous moan from his throat, and Matsukawa nips at the other’s lips in retaliation before breaking the kiss.

“Am I gonna what? Fuck you?” He grabs Hanamaki's thigh, yanking it up against his side as he leans in close to his ear and finishes, low and rumbling, “Of course, princess.”

A full-body shudder _rips_ through Hanamaki and he moans, his hands slipping down to grasp at Matsukawa's sweat-damp shoulders.

“I’ll give you what you want, yeah? Gonna come in you? Fill you up, drip down your thighs, that what you want?”

He lifts his head just in time to see Hanamaki nod feverishly, eyes wide.

“Please, Issei...”

“I've got you.”

He hikes Hanamaki's legs up over his shoulders, all but folding him in half. One leg slips down to the crook of his elbow, but he doesn’t bother fixing it. Instead, he does exactly as he’d promised and fucks him. _Hard_.

The neighbours already hate them, but Matsukawa is sure they hate him even more right now – the headboard’s hitting the wall, bed creaking, and Hanamaki won’t shut up. He chokes, sobs, brokenly swearing when he has the breath. He’s so fucking pretty like this, head thrown back, clutching at whatever he can reach to ground himself, and shit, Matsukawa loves him, loves him so much it _hurts_. It’s too much – he buries his head in Hanamaki’s shoulder, chokes on a gasp, sinks his teeth into the already-bruised skin between his neck and shoulder.

Hanamaki cries out, clenching around him, and it's that that does Matsukawa in, coming with a too-loud curse.

As soon as it’s over, he wants to collapse, but Hanamaki is struggling to breathe, chest heaving and body shaking. So he unhooks the other’s legs from his shoulder and arm to relieve the pressure and keeps himself propped up over him. He smooths a hand over his hair and cheek and, nose to nose, mumbles quiet reassurances and reminders to, “Breathe, Hiro, breathe.”

Finally, his boyfriend calms down enough for Matsukawa to lift his head and look at him properly. He’s a mess – sweaty, marked, eyes hazy and heavy – but he manages a small, lopsided smile.

“Holy shit,” he exhales.

“Okay?” Matsukawa asks.

Hanamaki nods. “That was…”

His voice is hoarse, and when he trails off, Matsukawa helpfully supplies, “Intense?”

His boyfriend nods again, blinking dazedly at him, lips parted as his breathing continues to calm.

Matsukawa chuckles. “Don’t say I don't appreciate you.”

Hanamaki rolls his eyes. Matsukawa pets his cheek again, and moves in for a kiss. Hanamaki obliges as enthusiastically as he can, considering how exhausted he is, and when Matsukawa pulls back, he’s looking a little more alert.

“You really wanted that,” Matsukawa says. “Like, a lot.”

Hanamaki bites his lip, glances away as he mutters, “Fuck off.”

Matsukawa laughs. “You always complain when you get come all over you,” he says, plants a kiss at the corner of his mouth, “and now suddenly you’re this gross cumslut who can’t get enough.”

Even through the post-sex flush, Matsukawa can see the blush that immediately blooms on the other’s face. Hanamaki’s eyes widen and he swats at Matsukawa’s shoulder as he sputters, “You can’t… you can’t just… _say_ shit like that! I’m not!”

“‘Oh, Issei, I want you to fuck me _full_ , want it _dripping_ down my thighs, make it _messy_ ’.” Matsukawa grins as he teases. “You’re a dirty little cumslut.”

“Matsukawa Issei, that’s a _disgusting_ thing to say.”

“Oh, I’ll get you to admit it one day.”

Hanamaki scowls. “Not a chance in hell.”

“We’ll see.”

“You’re wrong in the first place, anyway. I don’t complain when I get come on me, I complain when it dries on me.” Hanamaki says, pouting. “There’s a difference.”

Matsukawa laughs. “My apologies, princess. Shall we get you into a shower then?”

He gets another smack, but the help he offers Hanamaki in getting off the bed, out of his shirt, and to his unsteady feet is easily accepted. When they’re both standing, Matsukawa notices a slight sheen over a large red blotch on the outside of Hanamaki’s thigh. He frowns, before realising its residual lube from where he grabbed and squeezed – hard enough to leave a mark apparently, though he hadn’t thought so in the moment. If he squints, he can kind of see the shape of the handprint. It’s not going to bruise, but it might last a few hours, and Matsukawa resolves to see if Hanamaki can be persuaded to wear shorts or underwear that will show it off when they crash on the couch – if the movie marathon is, in fact, still the plan for the afternoon.

He’s distracted from his thoughts by Hanamaki grabbing his arm tightly. Matsukawa reaches out, thinking he’s about to fall, but instead a small, breathy little “ _Oh,_ ” escapes his wide-eyed boyfriend’s lips.

“You alright?” Matsukawa asks.

Hanamaki nods, and his gaze wanders downwards for a split-second. Matsukawa follows it, and swallows hard when he realises what he’s reacting to – come is leaking thick down the insides of his shaking thighs. Something bursts hot in Matsukawa’s chest at the sight. It takes him a moment to process what it is, and when it registers, it surprises him.

Possessiveness. That’s _his_ come inside Hanamaki right now, sticky on his skin. The handprint matches _his_ fingers, and the shirt now dirty and discarded on the floor is _his_ . The fresh bite mark on Hanamaki’s shoulder, the fading bruises across his throat, came from _his_ teeth. The reason Hanamaki is trembling, clinging to him for support, pleasure-drunk and sated, is _him_ . And for as long as Hanamaki will have him, it will _only_ be him.

He’d never, ever have thought of himself as the possessive type, but the fire burning in his chest – even though it scares the hell out of him – feels _good_.

He shakes his head and steers that train of thought away quickly. Instead, he smirks and asks, “Like it?”

Hanamaki smacks his arm, but there isn’t much force behind it. “If I killed you,” he mutters, “no jury would convict me. It’d be a justified homicide.”

Matsukawa snorts. “But Makki! If you kill me, who’s going to make you come eighteen times with their stupid, magic fingers?”

They make their careful way to the bathroom, and Matsukawa wastes no time getting the shower to temperature. Just as he’s about to step in and pull Hanamaki with him by the hand, the other tugs him back. Matsukawa glances at him curiously. The fog has cleared from his eyes now, replaced by soft affection and coupled with a small, genuine smile.

“You called me love.”

“Hmm?”

“You called me love.”

Matsukawa blinks. He tries to think back, and it takes a moment to sort through the haze of lust and heat, but then it comes back to him - _“Not right now, love.”_ And the accompanying thought – y _ou could ask me to do anything when you’re like this and I'd do it_. He swallows.

“I… did.”

Hanamaki’s smile widens. He pulls a little harder, bringing Matsukawa to him, and wraps his arms around his waist. A heartbeat, and then he tilts his head to press their lips together. Matsukawa melts against him, one hand raising to Hanamaki’s cheek while the other rests warm against the small of his back.

Against Matsukawa’s lips, Hanamaki murmurs, with a tremor in his voice, “I’m so happy that I get to be with you, ‘sei.”

At the exact same, unfortunate moment, against Hanamaki’s lips, Matsukawa murmurs, “I also called you a cumslut.”

Hanamaki groans loudly and shoves him away. “You ruined the moment! How could you?”

Matsukawa laughs and drags him back. Hanamaki tries to fight him but he’s not serious – he lets Matsukawa pull him into another kiss, and lets him say just as nervously, “I’m really happy that I get to be with you too… love.”

He pauses. He’s not at a place where he can be so open as to give voice to the power Hanamaki has over him, where he can say ‘ _I love you so much that it hurts, and for as long as you let me love you, I’ll be the luckiest person in the world_ ’. But Hanamaki has been a little vulnerable with him today, and Matsukawa thinks he can be a little vulnerable in return.

He takes a deep breath. “And in the spirit of fairness, I want to let you in on a secret. I… I kinda like it when you pull my hair. Kinda… really like it.”

Hanamaki smirks, and it's mischievous but kind. “Oh yeah?” He snakes a hand into his boyfriend’s hair and yanks. “Like this? This get you off, Mattsun?”

Matsukawa smacks his hand away and snaps back with a grin, “We all have our kinks, Makki. I like having my hair pulled and fucking you six ways from Sunday, and you’re a dirty little cumslut who likes getting it on in public.”

Hanamaki splutters, “That’s not true! You take that back! _You’re_ the one –”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his tirade, because Matsukawa drags him into the waiting shower, laughing as he shoves the other’s head under the water to shut him up. As Hanamaki frees himself and rubs water from his eyes, Matsukawa shakes his head at himself. He knew it was a bad idea to tell him, to invite him in to yet another part of him.

But if it means getting to share his life with Hanamaki Takahiro, then maybe it’s worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> once more, with feeling
> 
> thank you!!


End file.
